Unusual Bedfellows
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Len doesn't think that the man he's let into his Buick is a professional, but he seems eager enough to please. Their arrangement's simple - first, Len gets what he wants, then this man gets something in return. Coldflash. Barry Allen. Leonard Snart.


**Warning for implied sex work and sexual content.**

"Hey. You looking for some company?"

Len peers up from his cell phone at the man talking through the rolled-up window of his blue Buick Regal. It's not the most stylish car Len's ever boosted, but it does the job. It's low profile, meant to keep him under the radar. Several patrol cars have passed him by already without their drivers looking too concerned, and some foot traffic, too.

But it didn't seem to work on _this_ man.

"Possibly," Len says. "You a cop?"

"Nah." The man smiles bashfully. "Just a college student, trying to get by."

"Yeah, I guess with that baby face of yours, you couldn't be a cop, could you?"

"Exactly." The man chuckles. It's light, natural, flirty. "So, uh, why don't you let me in? It's gettin' kinda cold out here." The man wraps his arms around his torso and shivers to emphasize his point. Len glances past him at the trees behind him. None of their branches sway, none of their leaves flutter.

Len shrugs. "Sure." He leans across the passenger seat and unlocks the door. "Why not?"

"Great," the man says, that giant smile of his ever a fixture on his face. Men must like that about him. His cheerfulness. His youthful exuberance.

It gives a man the impression that he's eager to please.

"So …" Len watches the man slip into the passenger seat and settle in "… what did you have in mind?"

"I guess that depends on you." The man turns his body Len's way, staring at him beneath long lashes. " _I_ need something, and _you_ need something. I'll give you what you need if you give me what I need."

"Really?" Len's sarcastic, but the man's eyes go dark.

"Really. Just tell me what to do," he says, looking older, more dangerous, when those words rolls off his tongue, hot like moonshine.

Len's grin burns slow, curls sinisterly up his cheeks. He might just have to snag a taste for himself and see how hot this man truly is.

"Well, why don't we start here," Len suggests, unzipping his pants, forgoing this man's tempting mouth on his own to feel it somewhere else, where the tingle from his moonshine tongue might be more potent.

The man looks down when he hears Len's fly unzip. He smiles as he leans forward and removes Len's hands. "Allow me," he says, pulling Len's zip the rest of the way down and reaching a cool hand inside. Len sucks in a breath at the contact - this man's chill skin against Len's cock. Len peeks out the window and sees the trees shudder. He laughs once. Maybe it is colder outside than he thought.

That's the last thing Len notices outside the car when he feels the man's mouth encircle the head of his cock, a silky warm tongue taking an experimental lick around the top. Len detects a slight hesitation on the part of the man whose lips suckle just the head. _Must not be a pro_ , Len thinks with a hint of sympathy. _Man, he must really be desperate then_. Len remembers the things he used to do in his youth to get by; things he never told anybody about.

Things he'd rather not remember.

To that end, Len considers grabbing the guy's head and shoving down, give him direction, but he can't. The man has started moving now, testing, tasting, and his mouth is just too sweet. Len moans subconsciously, and that seems to be all this man needs to hear. He sucks in and swallows Len's cock whole, quickly, unexpectedly, and Len moans again louder – foolishly loud since he's sure anyone nearby can hear him.

Len pushes his seat back. It doesn't give the man too much more room than he had before, but the room he does have, he's making the most of. Forget what Len thought before about this man not being a pro. He either is, or he just needed to find his groove, because compared to what Len's had in the past few decades, this man's a motherfucking expert. He seems to know Len, exactly what he likes. He bobs steadily, almost too fast, but Len doesn't mind. This man and his mouth are utter perfection, the right amount of heat with just a touch of bite, speed and friction combining to create build up, but not going too far, not going overboard. And his tongue … it's like a machine – tirelessly lapping, curling and stroking.

Len grabs a fistful of the man's hair. He bucks up and the man chokes, scratching at the denim to Len's jeans, but he chases Len's erection as it slides from his mouth.

"Oh, Jesus," Len groans. He slaps his hand on the door panel, finding it hard to think or care about anything while this man holds his thighs down and sucks him off. Ten minutes may have gone by so far, possibly an hour. Len doesn't know, and that's out of character for him. He doesn't like to lose himself, or put himself in a position where he can get caught off guard, but right now he doesn't care. He's close. So close. He wishes the man would slow down a bit. He's gone from bashful schoolboy to man with a vendetta in breakneck speed. Len opens his mouth to say so but he can't. He's riding the crest of a wave that's lifting him higher and higher than he thought possible. He might actually be leaving his body. That's the only way he can explain the dizziness, the euphoria, the heat growing in his stomach, building in his chest, crackling and burning like a ball of lightning.

The man's hands leave Len's thighs and crawl up his chest, searching out his nipples, his neck, his lips – anything he can touch that will connect him. An index finger slips past Len's lips and he sucks. He feels the man hum. Len sucks harder and the man gasps, his mouth popping open so he can take a breath.

"Oh, God," Len moans. "Oh, Christ … oh, God …" those moans altogether the most Len's prayed since he was about six. He doesn't warn the man that he's about to cum, which he'll admit is bad form on his part, even if this guy is a sex worker, but when he does cum, the man doesn't pull away. He sinks down Len's member, struggling to swallow, then takes another breath. No, this one's a sigh, filled with an almost palpable mixture of relief and resignation.

That's the difference between doing something like this because you want to and because you have to.

Though, for a moment there, Len could almost swear the man wanted to.

The man lifts his head and licks his lips, slick and ruby red even in this non-existent light.

"How was that?" the man pants. He smiles wide, eyes bright, desperate for Len's approval.

"That was … nice," Len says, tucking back into his jeans and zipping up. " _Very_ nice … as always, _Barry_."

Barry swallows hard, his eager smile turning into a grimace. He raises an arm and wipes his mouth on his sleeve. Len watches, eyes growing cold as Barry's burn hot, but not with lust.

With disgust.

"So," Barry says, grave, "where is it?"

Len smirks. He debates not telling him, holding out for a second orgasm, maybe this time in Barry's ass. God, he's wanted to pound into this kid since the first time Barry thwarted him. But Len doesn't want Barry to know just how much he wants it. That would give Barry power, and Barry doesn't need any more power over Len than he already wields, whether he knows it or not. "It's in a warehouse on 83rd. Deep underground. About 17 floors."

Barry nods. "Security systems? Guards? Meta-humans?"

"All three."

"Anything else?"

Len leans forward, wondering how close Barry would let him get.

Wondering what Barry would do if Len kissed him.

But from the lightning sparking in Barry's determined eyes, Len knows that tonight's not the night to find out.

"You're welcome," Len says, reclining back in the driver's seat.

"You know, I'm not going to keep pumping you for information this way. Eventually we're going to come up with a different … arrangement."

"Yeah, well, just remember … you're the one who started this, _Flash_."

Barry glowers. The lightning in his eyes reflects off the windows of the Buick, throwing demonic shadows all around.

Yes, Barry started this. He wasn't denying that. He had a good reason.

It was Barry's last ditch effort to keep Len out of his hair … and, for the most part, out of trouble.

Len refused to leave Central City. Downright refused, even after his usual one heist window had long passed. Barry thought it was because Len loved being the biggest burr in Barry's boot, but Barry discovered it was because of Lisa. Len didn't want to drag Lisa around the way his father had him. He wanted to give her something close to a normal life, even if the two of them were still robbing armored cars and blowing up bank vaults.

After Team Flash saved Lisa's life, Len decided that Central City was the best place for her, knowing that Barry would have her back, even if reluctantly, just like he had everyone else's.

Though Barry seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time and energy keeping tabs on the Snarts.

Barry offered Len a compromise – he would stay off Len's back if Len would be willing to act as his eyes in the underground. Barry knew that Len could go places Barry couldn't, find out information that even Barry's team, with all of their advanced tech, couldn't unearth.

Realizing this was his best opportunity to keep his sister safe, Len had said it sounded good to him, but he needed incentive. He'd wanted total immunity for everything he'd done in the past … and anything he might do in the future. Addiction was in his blood, he'd argued. His father _was_ an alcoholic, after all. Len couldn't 100% guarantee that he wouldn't fall off the wagon, not while being a snitch. What if he had to prove to the dark underbelly's lowest that he was still on the down and down? He'd need to know he could do so with impunity.

Barry didn't buy it. He refused to trust Snart to that extent, not after the last time Len burned him. Barry couldn't hand Len a ticket to cause anarchy just because he got bored.

After a lot of back and forth, a lot of tiresome negotiation, they'd settled on this. It was accidental, spur of the moment, after a comment Len had made about the stress of the job, and now turning traitor, putting a damper on his social life.

For every piece of information he gathers for Barry and his crew, Len gets the dream blow of his choosing.

Turning goodie-two-shoes Barry Allen into his own private whore was just too good an offer to pass up. It was something he couldn't steal, something he couldn't buy with all the money in the world.

It was a handshake routine. Barry refused to put anything down on paper. He didn't need anyone on his team knowing how he got his intel.

Len didn't expect much from Barry at first other than a lot of sarcastic jabs, eye rolling and gagging, but as it turned out, Barry was too, _too_ good at it. At all of it – the play acting _and_ giving head.

Barry had to be. He needed to keep Len on his side. He needed to be able to take Len at his word, and ensure he would keep it.

So Barry followed along, shoved down revulsion, and put his heart into it.

But that doesn't mean he has to put up with Leonard Snart's superiority complex.

"Fuck you, Snart!" Barry spits. He leaps out of the car and zips away, leaving the passenger door hanging wide open, the whole care shaking from the force of his retreat.

"Someday." Len pulls the door shut. "Someday you will." He starts the car, and as he drives away, he puts his brain to work, trying to come up with the one thing he could dangle in front of Barry Allen's nose that might make that happen.


End file.
